Beyond Control
by luvingbtr
Summary: I stare at the blood gushing out of 3 cuts in my wrist, a sad smile forming on my face. I haven't been happy in a long time, and I don't know why. I guess that's what Hollywood does to you, it depresses you. How much more weight do I have to lose? It's too much, far too much for a seventeen year old guy to handle. I just can't do it anymore. Everyone would be happier without me.


**Alright, I know I haven't updated anything in ****_forever. _****High school and life took over, and I ended up joining a new fandom. The One Direction fandom. Now, before I get raged at, I'll just say that BTR will ****_always _****be my favorite band. That will never change. I just like One Direction as well, and I don't see why I can't be a Directioner ****_and _****a Rusher. That being said, I've written- and still am writing- One Direction fanfiction. I wrote a story quite similar to this one, for 1D, and I ended up finishing it. I know this story's old, but I am posting it for the final time- and I will finish it. I have my train of thought planned, and I know exactly how it is going to go. Unfortunately, I'm not going to start updating for a few months- I have stories to complete. If any of you'd like to read my One Direction stories, here is the link. Remove the spaces between the dots, and it should work: www . quotev shoonderp. No dot at the end. Anyway, this author's note is getting long, so without further ado, here is the prologue.**

* * *

I stare at the blood gushing out of 3 cuts in my wrist, a sad smile forming on my face. Tears drip down my cheeks, and I wonder why I'm crying.

Is it the physical pain?

Or the emotional?

I don't even know anymore. I don't know me anymore.

I'm nothing like I used to be, nothing like I imagined myself to be. I'm not that smart, sweet, lovable guy everyone thinks I am. I've changed. For the worst. It can't get any worse than this, I can't break any farther.

Singing and dancing have become monotone and daily things for me, as if there's no passion in my life.

I wish I was the old person I used to be. The one in Minnesota. The one that always had a good time at the rink, laughing and joking with his best friends. Best friends. They know nothing. I'm already such a failure and a screw-up to them, if they found out about this, they'd stop talking to me. They'd ostracize me, and I'd be all alone.

Like I deserve to be.

But I just can't handle it.

I can't handle being alone.

I'm /that/ pathetic.

I have to deal with this on my own. I need to suck it up and deal with it, because no one will ever know. This is a secret, that will stay a secret, for the rest of my life.

Is it wrong that I like the blood? I like to watch myself bleed, as all my pain eases away, even if it's just for a short period of time. I like to feel the physical pain, when the razor cuts into my skin. It takes away from the mental and emotional pain I feel.

Truth is, I'm bullied occasionally. I can't dance, and some girls hate my singing. I tend to see lots of hate comments on Twitter, which makes my urge to cut even stronger. They make me want to die. Everything in my life leaves me feeling suicidal. I want to shoot myself or jump off the roof of the Palm Woods. Better yet, overdose on aspirin or cut so deep, I die from blood loss.

I've brainstormed ways to kill myself more times than I can count. I just want to die so badly. I want to leave this damn world, because all it's done is cause me more pain than I can handle.

I can't do this anymore.

I'm done.

My name is Hortense Logan Mitchell, and I've been cutting myself for the past 6 months.

* * *

I look blankly at the wall facing my bed, not really looking at much of anything. I haven't been happy in a long time, and I don't know why. I guess that's what Hollywood does to you, it depresses you. A tear slides down my cheek and I wonder...how long has it been since I smiled? Or showed any emotion? Where has the fun and playful guy gone? The one that loved dangerous stunts and fruit smackers? I'm not really into this boy band thing. Sure, I love singing and dancing with my brothers. Or, at least I used to, but it's not fun anymore. Nothing is fun anymore.

I wish I was out playing hockey with my buds. Slamming the boards and rushing the net. How much fun would that be?

If my brothers knew how sad I was, they'd leave me.

That's why I haven't told them. I haven't told anyone. This is my problem, therefore, I know, big word, anyways, therefore, I have to deal with it on my own.

I need to learn how to fix myself. Before this gets any worse. I can't take this anymore.

Then again, do I want to fix myself?

Logan, James, and Kendall look to be just as broken as I am. If I'm all better and they're falling apart, what'll happen? We've all put up walls. We haven't let anyone in, and that decision was horrible.

Soon, one of us will snap and commit suicide.

Then, the rest of us will drift apart and we'll die alone, drowning in misery and self-pity.

I feel like nothing's ever going to get better. And it won't. We'll just suffer and suffer in silence, until one, or all of us snap, and commit suicide.

And then, then we'll be happy.

Or not.

We may not have been destined to be happy.

My name is Carlos Juan Garcia, and I've been in a deep depression for the past six months.

* * *

I vomit violently into the toilet, two fingers up my throat. Yep, that's right, I made myself throw up. I do it every day. It's part of me now. I just feel like I need to be perfect, all the time. Always good looking, always flawless. This is the only way.

How long have I been doing this?

I don't remember. I don't care, to be honest. I need to be perfect. I'm the pretty boy, and the pretty boy always has to look his best. If starving myself, and throwing up, is the way to look my best, then so be it. I'm willing to do anything.

I really want to die now. I hate my life so much. Every second of every day is pain to me.

Constantly worrying about my weight, going to the gym for four hours, I just hate it so much. It hurts. I want to die. I want to end this suffering.

I sink to the floor, head on my knees.

How much more weight do I have to lose? How long do I have to hide everything from my friends? If I told them, they'd hate me. I just want to play hockey, have snow days, like in Minnesota. Well, that'll never happen. Being famous is nothing like I had imagined. I just wish I had never persuaded the guys to let me audition.

Why did I even want this?

I realize now, that Minnesota would've been ten times better than this. Playing hockey, having fun, just hanging out as best friends, where there are no paparazzi, haters, no stress.

I want to go back there.

It's too late now. I'm the selfish asshole that wanted this, and now I have to live with it.

I know that Kendall, Carlos, and Logan are suffering.

Because of me.

It's my fault that they're broken.

My name is James Issac Diamond, and I've been struggling with anorexia for 6 months.

* * *

I close my eyes, wishing everything would go away.

The stress.

The pain.

Everything.

I can't take it anymore. It's too much, far too much for a seventeen year old guy to handle. I just can't do it anymore. I pull out a bottle of painkillers and shake most of the pills into my hand.

Then I stop.

I let the pills fall to the bathroom floor, with a loud clatter.

I sink down against the wall, head in my hands. Am I really going to do it? I feel tears come to my eyes, and without a second to spare, they've broken the dam.

I need a break.

From everything.

I need to fucking die.

Everything hurts.

The emotional pain is overwhelming me, and I just can't do this anymore. I don't even know how I managed to hold on for this long. It hurts. I need to fucking die.

I need to kill myself so that the world will be rid of such a horrible person.

I want to be normal again. I want to know what's up with my brothers.

They aren't the same as they used to be.

None of us is.

It's Hollywood.

That's what changed us.

I just want to be back in Minnesota. No chance. Big Time Rush is so popular, I can tell Minnesota won't be gaining six more residents any time soon. I hate my life. That's basically my conclusion. I don't know how it came to that. I want to die. To be done with this hell of a life.

Game over.

I quit.

I brought my brothers to LA.

And now, they're all suffering. James is growing thinner and thinner, Carlos never talks to anyone anymore, and Logan's become extremely secretive and only wears long-sleeve shirts or hoodies.

It's my fault that they're hurting so much.

I should just go and die so everyone can be happier.

My name is Kendall Donald Knight, and I've been considering suicide for the past 6 months.

* * *

**Thoughts? I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a review- thank you in advance. **


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